Ah, lives of men! When prosperous they glitter – Like a fair picture; when misfortune comes – A wet sponge at one blow has blurred the painting.
If a man suffers ill, let it be without shame; for this is the only profit when we are dead. You will never say a good word about deeds that are evil and disgraceful.
Too few rejoice at a friend’s good fortune.
Time brings all things to pass.
For this is the mark of a wise and upright man, not to rail against the gods in misfortune.
For there is no defense for a man who, in the excess of his wealth, has kicked the great altar of Justice out of sight.
For somehow this disease inheres in tyranny, never to trust one’s friends.
And though all streams flow from a single course to cleanse the blood from polluted hand, they hasten on their course in vain.
Mourn for me rather as living than as dead.
What is there more kindly than the feeling between host and guest?